Resurface
by Nofoundation
Summary: To start over. To start over and this time, to do it right like he should have from the beginning. He grew tired of this dream; this endless reality. Someday, when death decides to reach out and embrace him, perhaps he'll wake up from it all.
1. Chapter 1

**Resurface**

**Chapter 1.**

_Put me in your suitcase,_

_Let me help you pack._

_'Cause you're never coming back._

_No you're never coming back._

_- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -_

Small droplets of rain had began to fall from the empty grey skies. In mere moments, the rainfall had grew more, now showering the small, crowded streets. Most of the public people commenced to hurry out of the center of the rain, now darting for shelter near stores around the area to keep away from the rain; covering their heads with whatever items they carried along with them. Puddles had began to form in the small cracks between the imperfections of the concrete ground, and it was almost as if the water danced along with the motion of the running footsteps, now flying wildly in every direction. The sidewalks grew vacant, little by little; small children now pressed against the brick walls safely by the overhead roofs above to dry themselves, others perched upon the stone steps of apartments with more people hunched over the rusted railings beside the entrance. Beyond the shuffling movements of the hurried people, there was one man who did not seemed bothered by the downpour, for he calmly walked through the sidewalk; cigarette in the corner of his lips, a stoic expression built in his face, and both hands dug into the pockets of his tawny trench coat.

His eyes shifted through the street, spotting a small flower stand sitting safely under a rooftop. He came to a halt a few inches ahead of it, and frown thoughtfully. It seemed that everything around this place had lacked colour besides the bright flowers; with brilliant colours of crimson, and yellow. A young girl behind the table of flowers fixed her eyes on the tall man and lifted her eyebrows for a moment, unsure if he was intent on buying. His lips parted somewhat, cigarette barely hanging in his mouth.

"Will you be buying any today, sir?" She hesitated her question, leaning forward slightly. Her wide brown eyes were full certainty for his yes. It seems she was desperate for sales. The man approached the flower stand, now standing inside the small clearing of the flower stand straying away from the rain. Small droplets of rainwater from the man's being had fell on the ebony table, ringing a sound to the table with each drop. He closed his mouth, his lips forming a thin line. With his mismatched eyes, he glared at the red rose placed in the front row through the emitted smoke of his cigarette, now somber. After a few moments of his pause, the girl lowered her eyebrows with defeat, straightening her posture.

"One rose." The man finally replied softly, reflexively taking his eyes off the simple rose and looked at the girl in front of him. At his words, she immediately perked up, a wide smile tugging widely through her face and she nodded her head, gently picking out the rose from it's place. The man removed one hand from his pocket, managing to find little change left in the contents of the pocket. How he managed to have it there, was unknown. But it seemed to prove useful for this very day as he handed the change to the girl in exchange for the flower presented to him. The child started to count the amount, mumbling to herself the exact amount, and with a satisfied nod, she placed the change aside and gave the lofty man and beamed up towards him once more.

"Thank you very much." She squeaked gladly.

The man had simply nodded his head, and he found himself smiling faintly. He arched his eyebrows in surprise, for kids was one of the three things that he despised. He carefully lowered his hand to his side, gripping the stem of the rose lightly and he turned heel, heading out into the rain.

"She must be special, the girl you're giving the rose to." The girl had called out through the downpour with the same smile on her face. The man paused, now turning his head towards the girl. He inhaled a great amount of smoke into his lungs, exhaling it slowly into the open air as it merged with the droplets of water before disappearing. His eyes grew soft as he was in contemplation before answering,

"Yeah, she's special." And with that said, he turned away once more, looking towards the path in front of him. With his free hand, he took hold of the cigarette from his lips, and tossed it towards the ground, stepping on it roughly with his boot. He eyes lingered down toward his other hand at the rose. Water fell over the red petals, and it slowly started to run down the edges of the petal, dropping towards the ground.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The man now came to narrow sidewalk away from the streets he left behind. The skies were still of grey, but the rain had eased slowly. Beyond the verdant land were stone slabs that were aligned orderly from left to right on each side of the sidewalk, blocked by little fences to keep the path straight on. The place was of a small graveyard that extended far out through the land. Besides the small amount of trees present within the area, it was eerie. Dark.

By now, his olive toned hair was drenched with water, but still it managed to stay wild and untamed. He proceeded to take slow steps towards one in particular, and he stopped directly in front of it, glaring down at the small slab. His eyes seemed empty as he stared, and his thin face grew rigid as stone.

"Lived your life..."

One petal had tore apart gently from the red rose.

"Done and died..."

The bright red bud had swayed back and forth gently; falling.

"Erased. Vanished. Goodbye..."

Now the petal had ceased it's movement, landing on a shallow puddle of water, distorting the reflection of the man above. His eyes narrowed at his last words. _Goodbye_. He didn't like that word to describe it, especially for her. But what other way was there to put it? She was gone; died in his arms. _It's... just a dream..._

"Maybe... I'll wake up from this dream someday." He spoke softly. His tone didn't have a hint of sadness to it, but it was unchanged; not cracking like others do. "Maybe It'll be soon, and I'll see you again when I'm past all this." his voice now grew lower, almost to a whisper. He shut his eyes for a brief moment, and through his head, he saw her clearly. A beautiful woman with long blond hair, and pale azure eyes that held a glint of sadness to them. The man reopened his eyes once again, staring past the slab below him. He didn't want to remember her that way. There were countless memories of her without that expression. It was as if it was just a day ago. All the time he shared with her; from their love-making, to waking up to her beautiful voice singing to him.

If he could just hear it once more...

He lifted his arm forward slowly loosening his grip on the rose, feeling the flower slip away from his fingers in seconds. The rose dropped over the grave, letting the water hit the petals gently; one by one. With one more glance, he tore his eyes off the slab, and turned. Reaching in another pocket of his coat, he pulled out a carton of cigarettes and shuffled through the box, getting ahold of one. His eyes lingered down towards the box. Empty. With a simple shrug of his shoulders, he placed the cigarette in his mouth and stored the box away in this pocket, now pulling out a lighter. He would need to buy more soon. He raised the lighter closely to the end of the cigarette, flicking it countless of times before a bright flame erupted from it. He stared at the blaze intently, letting the warmth of the fire radiate through his skin. His light irises glowed brightly with the flames light, filling his still eyes with the reflection of the moving flame. As the lighter touched the butt of the cigarette, smoke immediately rose from the end. And in that moment, the flame died out. _Erased. Vanished. Goodbye_.

* * *

**A/N:**That's that. The italics in the beginning was from the song, At The Hop, by Devandra Banhart. It's a nice little folk tune.

Reviews are always welcomed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2.**

_'I told you before, Spike... I'm the only one who can kill you and set you free.'_

Surely he thought so. But there he was, hardly keeping straight on his own two feet. He had one arm pressed roughly against the right side of his torso. He felt blood spilling endlessly from the wound that Vicious had pierced through him. And for one second, he forgot about the fatal wound on his side and thought about how the blood stains had possibly ruined his trench coat. But now, pain shot through his whole being, bringing him back to the present. He winced slightly through clenched teeth and pressed his arm tighter to his side. He lowered his eyes towards a fallen figure before him. He was face down on the hard floor of the complex, his unruly silver hair tangled and wildly all over the place as he made his fall. There was no movement from Vicious, and the other had kept his place for more seconds, observing if he was alive. But there was nothing. His body was limp; blood from his gunshot wounds oozed out from underneath his deceased profile. Spike suddenly staggered back, feeling the sharp sting of his cuts throughout his body. His mix matched eyes tore off of the fallen man's corpse and darted throughout the ground, searching for his Jericho. He was not about to die without it. In mere seconds, he found it laying beside his feet, and he held his breath as he carefully bent over to take a hold of it. Hands shaking tremendously. Damn, this whole thing hit him hard, but he knew it was to be expected. Slowly, he stored the gun into one of the many pockets of his coat and turned his head slightly towards the front of the complex; the collar of his coat blocking a quarter of his sight.

His vision had grew faint; focusing in and out through the Red Dragon Syndicate. Blood was spilled through his left eye, making him unable to have clear sight of all that was in front of him. Figures were present within the large room, all standing in a rigid posture, armed with weapons, with their same black suits, with their same ties... So he waited with closed eyes; waited for the shot that would end him. He waited for the kill that would wake him up from this place. But alas, there was no sound, no greeting of gunshots to pierce the silence that filled the room.

Slowly, he opened his eyes once more, breathing heavily. With every breath he took in, it stung through his body, and from there he tried to take in short breaths to ease the wound. He took slow steps down the red draped staircase, twitching his lip each time for the cut he also received upon his left leg. He was careful to step away from the blown debris that were scattered across the room. The sole of his boots landing on each stair had rung through the room, breaking the silence immediately. It seemed from every step he took, the morning light had grew over him, casting light down upon the ruined building. For a split second, a faint smile had formed on the corners of his lips. He would die right there in this morning bliss. Spike Spiegel continued to descend the stairs, ignoring the wounds that dragged him down. Certainly he was bound to fall over. He already knew it was coming.

He came to a halt halfway through. He felt that his body did not want to function at this time, for his feet began to give out on him. He seemed like a drunk mess. He shut his eyes once more, relaxing his whole body. He could feel every single Syndicate member looking towards him with clear expressions of surprise on their faces. That's exactly what he wanted. He felt a grin spreading towards his parted lips, letting out a short breath of a chuckle.

Slowly, he lifted his free arm forward towards all of them; with his fingers, he formed a hand gesture. A gesture that was formed to seem like a shape of a gun.

"Bang..."

With those finishing words said, he finally collapsed to the ground, hitting his head against the edge of one step, and he let out a small grunt. But what did it matter, it was time for his end. The little things didn't matter for him. His eyes were narrow; barely even opened. All he saw was a bright light from the rays of the sun. One by one, he heard footsteps of the other figures below, proceeding to exit out of the complex. Their footsteps shuffling through the hard floor, now growing faint until Spike was left alone with the silence to accompany him. Wise move for them to take their leave, for the police would probably be coming shortly. Or was it the possibility that they knew that it was all over when Vicious was killed off. With no one else to run the Syndicate, they were sitting ducks. Now it was back to their old lives. Back to countless seconds of their passing. Doing the same thing they've done for years.

The

Same

Thing...

There he laid, hearing the members walk out of the room, unsure if this was all finally over. There he laid, feeling the warmth of his blood leak from his body to the steps. It matched perfectly with the steps. Red. There he laid, wishing for one more cigarette before his end. It's said that when a person is close to death, they come to a phenomenon of flashbacks of their entire life; rapidly seeing the totality of their past vividly; a flash of life. Now, he was a believer. Memories had shot through his mind left and right. His days as part of the Syndicate... engaging in the gunfight before dying the first time... the Bebop crew... he could recall the smell of the bell peppers and beef clearly. Mere images of their faces were flashed one by one. Jet Black, his stressful face concentrating as he is snipping bonsai leaves delicately with his scissors. A flash of the datadog, Ein had followed. Tiny dark orbs buttoned to his face, tongue hanging from the corners of his mouth. Beside the dog, he was being held close by a small girl; the hacker, Radical Edward. He could see the child's usual grinning face; her tan coloured skin flushed with a hint of pink on both cheeks. Another strip of memory appeared of a woman, with short purple hair and light green eyes. She was clothed in a skimpy yellow attire, a sly smile spread across her thin red lips. This woman was no other than Romani; Faye Valentine. Maybe, some things were just better left forgotten.

Spike chuckled lightly to that thought as he turned his head gently to the side to grasp more air into his lungs.

Faces of the people he connected with over his past suddenly shifted into memories; dim, mere flashbacks. One of which he was under a dark night, surrounded by bright stars that floated high above the skies. He recalled the warm air swirling through his surroundings. There, he sat upon the sand as it stuck to the fabric of his blue leisure suit; his legs huddled in close together for his lanky figure took up quite a bit of space in the tent. With one hand propped on his leg, he held it up to rest his head on top of the palm of his hand. Across from him was a stout native American; Laughing Bull. His face settled into a stern expression with his hand held forward. Sand was trickling down past the palm of his wrinkled hand, dropping into the ground below the red carpet where small patterns were shown through the sand. Behind the creases residing in his face, his eyes were intent on Spike.

_'Swimming Bird, do you know where you body is made from?'_

'I don't know. Probably some bird droppings that's rolling around somewhere.'

_'Swimming Bird, do you know what your soul is made from?_

'I don't know. Probably some cotton dust that's rolling around somewhere.'

_'The answer is wrong; yet right. Your body is connected with the universe; yet it is not. Your soul includes the entire universe; yet it does not. That is for me... and for everyone._ _If you hate someone, you hate yourself. __If you love someone, you love yourself.'_

'I don't feel anything towards anyone.'

_'That is... the greatest misfortunate on this earth.'_

It is where the end that it all made sense to Spike now. Next was just where his soul will wander after he his done with this universe. He always lived his life never in fear, and still he did not. But once he was out of his body, once his soul drifts away from him, what would be left of his soul after it's gone? When it reaches the point where he has nothing left to connect to; a mere strand of string binding him to this planet, what will be to come?

At once, the image of Laughing Bull had vanished, now leaving his mind in pitch black. And for a moment, he thought that this experience was over. A hum now started to ring through his thoughts. As seconds past, the voice grew more audible; more clearer. The rhythm to their vocals were slow and beautiful. It was so familiar...

Now there was another memory. Squinting through his blurred vision, his eyes began to focus more clearly as he stirred awake from the voice. He was inside of a small home with pictures framed against the walls. To the right of his direction, a large window was shone replacing the wall, and behind the light's rays gleaming through the window was a figure of a woman. He could see it so perfectly beyond all the other memories he pictured. Julia; reading a book by his bedside, singing that tune as she was concentrated in her reading. Her azure eyes skimming through line, after line, after line... at the slightest movement of Spike's head turning, her eyes flickered towards his wounded being; her eyebrows arched with surprise. Immediately, her singing stopped abruptly, lips parted, wordless for anything to say. She leaned over towards the injured man; her long blond hair falling over her shoulders neatly. Spike's eyes grew soft, his face at ease, and he opened his mouth; struggling for a breath of words to say.

_'Just like that... sing for me please.'_

After his words, Julia lowered her eyebrows, flashing him a warm smile.

The image of her faded along with the memory and it was over. The flash of life was over. To not feel anything towards anyone... that was a lie. He loved her. Just like a snap of his finger, she was gone. Along with her end, it would be soon be his, and he accepted death. As he was growing older, he was fearless. And to this day it remained. His expression calm, and relaxed as he embraced death with open arms.

Spike inhaled deeply, turning over slowly to face the sky above. With great effort, he managed to succeed followed by a tremendous amount of pain that shot through is body. He recoiled back with a sudden twitch,; his whole frame stiff. Spike reopened his eyes slowly, careful not to harm his vision from the morning's rays. Through his blurred vision, he could see the blue sky. He wondered for a moment, what kind of blue was he? Spike scoffed after that thought, for now it was towards the finish line where he asked all these questions. There was no time for answers. There was just no time. His throat was dry, his sight was now out of focus once again. He could hear the sound of his heart beating, the slow rhythm of it still pumping through him. The beats began to slow down, like a timeless clock you see above the wall. The battery begins to give out, the hand ticking now slowing it's pace, by then it would come to rest.

_When will it stop, Spike?_

He said in his mind with an inward sigh. The olive haired man began to close his eyes once more, shutting out the blue skies above. His stiff frame was now at ease, and he waited. Slowly, he could feel the vertigo now taking over him, and he did not fight it. This was it, this was all he had been waiting for. He would finally wake up from this dream. He would finally wake up and start over out of this universe. He did not feel cold, perhaps because of the blood loss that spread out the openings of his wounds. Through his numb body, he could feel his lips struggling for a smirk. He heard stories from others; a saying that you'll know when you're dying when you see a flash of white light leering your direction. But there was no illuminating light, there was only darkness when he shut his eyes. After moments of losing all sense, he was plunged into pitch black shadows.

Out of sight.

Out of mind.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_Put me in your blue skies,_

_Or put me in your grey._

_There's gotta be some way._

_There's gotta be some way._

_- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -_

A faint sound was heard ringing throughout Spike's ears. The noise was barely audible to him, as if his ears had been clogged for ages. He could feel his eyes twitch suddenly before they came open. With blurred vision, he blinked slowly a few times. With each time, he was able to see more clearer; his pupils adjusting to the sight of the dark starry night, regulating with the surroundings; growing larger, then easing down more to let his brown irises absorbing the light above him. His sense of hearing also was drawn back to him, now able to hear the chirping of crickets out in the dead night.

_Am I dead?_

He open his mouth slightly, with his mouth still arid; unable to let out any sort of sound. Under the crickets persisting chirps, he was able to hear his heart; he was able to hear the faint rhythm of his organ still pushing on. At that, he frown inwardly. So he still was alive. His eyes dimmed at the revelation. Spike exhaled his breath, attempting to sit up. With one arm, he slowly lifted it over to his ribs on his right. He could feel the tiny sparks of the numbing sensation surging through his arm as he gripped his side gently. His whole body was numb, but it was time to get up. If Vicious couldn't kill him, he wasn't about to let his hunger finish the job.

Spike winced slightly as his upper body struggled to remain sitting up. With much effort, he slowly dragged one of his lengthy legs forward; knees bending. Moving his toes through the inside of his boot, he regained movement into his foot. One down. He repeated the same actions as he did with his first leg; bringing it up, regulating blood flow to his entire leg. His teeth clenched as he did so, recalling the cut he had been struck with by Vicious. Spike's rigid expression had fell to a stoic look. He already had too many wounds to deal with.

He shook that thought out of his mind, now focusing back on his objective. Propping his free arm on the ground, he pushed a great force into his arm, now proceeding to rise off the ground. An infliction of rising pain had shot through the man all at once, forcing him to let out a grunt. He gritted his teeth, careful not to stumble over by the many steps in the complex. Spike's body swayed back and forth and he tried to keep his balance steady. Eventually he took control, focusing the force of his legs to keep steady. After those moments, he turned heel now descending the stairs one by one. His moves were sluggish as he continued down, and through his mind, he prayed for him not to fall over. But alas he was finished with the staircase, and now took slow strides towards the elevator. He pressed one finger lightly towards the downward arrow beside the elevator door, and he waited. Above the door, he saw the flash of numbers, ascending from lowest to his floor. One by one. Blink by blink... in seconds the door had opened for the olive haired man, and he stepped inside the shaft. He was uncertain of the police already arriving at the building, but if so, he'll avoid their company somehow. He never had any plans, he always just winged it. And every single time he had, it worked.

The lights of the control buttons to the right of him flickered to life; all the buttons flashing a tint of red, and he pressed down on one that led to the first floor. Before the door had closed, he took one last glimpse of the floor ahead of him. This destruction of the facility was his cause. The ashes that stained the red carpet permanently, the cracks and dents in the walls, the ceiling roof now torn apart, letting the outside world touch the complex, with all the artillery he managed to tuck into his coat... it was all his doing. The blasting waves of the nitroglycerin, iron oxide exploding throughout the masses producing tremendous heat, burning down all that it touched. It was beautiful... almost perfect under the blazing flames.

And he would love to see the building fall to the ground completely.

The sliding doors had finally closed, leaving Spike to lounge against the railings on the wall for support. Eyes shut, hands in pockets, he let the low hum of the elevator ring through his ears. A frown crossed through his face; this calm silence, this peaceful bliss was not fitting for him after everything that had happened. Beneath the pockets of his coat, his hands were clenched into tight fists; knuckles skin white.

Ding.

The signal of the elevator door opening rung through the small empty shaft. Spike reopened his eyes, facing the main hall in front of him. His eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a firm line. Men were sprawled on the ground, lifeless. Shattered glass and bullet holes were what became of the main floor. Shuffling of footsteps were heard through the center of the hallway, bringing Spike's focus forward. In front of him were armed police forces, coming to a halt feet away from him. He arched his eyebrows lazily at their presence.

"You, sir!" One of them had shouted throughout the space divided between them and Spike. "Step out of the elevator at once!"

Spike felt uneasy doing so; his frame rigid. He was not about to comply with them; not falling into being a suspect to all of this destruction. It was all already too much. With one hand, he slowly lifted it away from his side towards the operating panel, not taking his eyes off the police. They noticed his actions, shifting their eyes from his figure to his arm; their mouths falling open.

Eyes shrink-wrapped in doubt.

Heads whirling around to another unsure of their next move.

"Stop right now!" Another finally barked beside the officer, now reaching into his holster for his gun. Spike's fingers fumbled through the panel, pressing any button that he instantly came in contact with. The click of the sliding elevator doors had sounded abruptly, now beginning to close.

"Damn!" Cursed one of the officers and he began to fire. Spike immediately swayed off the center of the floor, taking cover to the left of him. Shots were blazing through the door as it closed, leaving traces of bullet holes; damaging the wall. The shots had ceased as the shaft began to ascend the floors. He rose to his feet, placing one arm on the handrail to support his figure up. Sweat was dripping down slowly from his face as he took in short, sharp breaths. He was certain they would be searching for him now. He had to think of means to escape, and he had to do so quickly. Mix matched irises were searching through the elevator, now coming in contact with the ceiling panel above him. Spike quickly reached for his Jericho, holding it by the butt and rapped it numerous times against the panel before it broke open. Storing his Jericho away, he removed his other hand from his wounded side, gripped the edges of the opening.

This was going to hurt like hell.

Spike shut his eyes tightly, pulling himself up off the ground to the roof of the elevator. Through clenched teeth, he grunted loudly as his side rippled with stinging pain. But he continued to pull himself up, slapping his arm forward to have more room to move up. Heaving his torso through the panel, he writhed his legs continuously to shift his whole body over the inside completely. Once doing so, he looked up through the elevator shaft, lights flickering through each floor. He was uncertain of which floor he had chosen, but he had to jump to another floor to avoid police arriving at his position. Spike was vigilant when rising to his feet, careful to not harm his body more than what had already been done. He shot his head up, seeing floor after floor pass by right before his eyes, each floor having two entrys; one on his side, and another to the opposite of him. He needed to time it all right...

_One._

He stepped towards the edge of the elevator, his ears clouded with the low clinks of the roller chains below the elevator ringing throughout the shaft.

_Two._

His wild hair blew with the air hitting his entire being as he ascended. His frame was slightly bent over, legs spread apart slightly, preparing himself for the jump.

_Three._

Eyeing one door sharply, Spike had readied himself and jumped across the other side of the elevator, the sole of his boots barely landing on the small step. Spike grasped his fingers to the edges of the wall in front of him, steadying his lean frame with the step, his heart racing. If he fell, it would be a long fall to the bottom, and he wouldn't be able to make it out of that one alive. His lips twitched at the mere snap shot.

Spike came face to face with the closed door in front of him. He dug one hand into the pocket of his coat to grip his Jericho once again. His other arm gripped the edge of the wall tightly, balancing his body to the elevator door. He did not have the proper tools with him to force the door open, but he would make the attempt with the butt of his Jericho, once again. Placing his gun between the crack of the door, he carefully moved his other arm to it also; fingers clenched to the curves of the elevator door. He took in a large breath, now making an effort to force the doors open. He gritted his teeth, arms shaking vigorously. This was too much for one man to handle; fingers skin white, nails scrapping into the edges of the door. Spike heaved his shoulders, putting all the force in his body in his hands. With one screech, one door had snapped open; a crack of light shooting from the other side of the floor. Spike dug his Jericho through the opening, keeping the elevator door open as he now pushed on, the doors slowly opening. He slipped through the sliding doors once the gap was wide enough to fit his scrawny figure through. Afterwords, the elevator door had shut once again.

Spike exhaled his breath, relaxing his whole being. To his surprise, there were no officers in this part of the facility yet, making it easier for him to make his exit. His eyes flickered to his far left, noticing the stairways. That would work. Now taking his time, he descended the staircases, one by one. Big print numbers were painted upon the white with each floor number shone when he turned heel to the next set below. The soles of his boots echoed throughout the vast staircase, bouncing off the walls breaking the silence that plagued the surroundings. Thump, by thump, by thump...

Twenty.

His whole figure grew fatigue with each step, legs trembling slightly. "Just keep pushing through." He calmly said to himself with a deep sigh to follow suit.

Ten.

With one hand on the railings, he was relieved that it was almost over. Just a few more sets. Once he reached the end, he took cover by the edge of the wall, listening in for footsteps. Faint voices were heard through the distance of the main hallway, now was his chance to take his leave. Shifting his body off the wall, Spike poked his head through the door, looking left to right for officers. Fortunately, their back was turned, and carefully, he took his leave from the staircase and searched for another exit. With glass shattering at the soles of his shoes, he advanced towards the small exit where there used to be sliding door. The blast from his grenade earlier had changed things. Upon leaving the complex, he noticed a few people looking his way. He took no heed to it, for there was no way he could hide his blood stains that were patched left to right on his body. His lanky body staggering through the streets, back hunched over slightly, swaying side to side languidly. The man did not seem to notice the odd glances that the people were snapping at him. He only removed his hands from the pockets of his coat, straightening out the creases in his coat and ventured into the streets ahead of him. His heavy eyes scanned through the streets, shifting through each neon sign that hung about every corner of the shops ahead. His brown empty eyes were taking in only glances; he knew the streets all too well.

_Now what, Spike?_

A hospital. That was his top priority for the moment. To get there quickly before he fell unconscious once again. The thought of retrieving his Swordfish II was second on his list. If he made the walk to go retrieve the ship, there was a chance his body couldn't strain through. As soon as he was out of the hospital, he would go for it. Even though the Swordfish II was beaten with few dents and small imperfections, it was his and only his. With that thought, he reached into one pocket, pulling out a box of cigarettes. He propped one into his mouth, placing the carton away. Now for a lighter. He reached in the same pocket, rummaging his fingers around for the small plastic container with the flammable fluid, but none was found. He pulled his hand out, now patting the other pockets impatiently for any sign, but there was nothing. Spike frowned in disdain; shrugging his shoulders, feeling cheated at that moment as he removed the cigarette from his mouth, and stored it away. He supposed it would have to wait.

* * *

**A/N: **this chapter was probably the most i've written in a story so far. cheers for me.

I'm currently working on the next chapter, and I think the next one will be longer, so be prepared for more reading! i have a general idea of where I want this story to lead into, but I'm still working on the details with that one. And feedback is always appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3. **

_Light me with your candle_

_And watch the flames grow high_

_No, it doesn't have to try_

_It doesn't have to try._

_- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -_

Mars; it was always crowded at nightfall. There were many people in the streets that night, off to their own celebrations around the town, happy faces spread across each of their lips. There was no care in the world for these people. If things were different, could he possibly feel the same thing as each of them? Perhaps so. But what already happened, happened. There was no changing that. While he had a lot of weight to carry; branded with the unwanted memories he couldn't forget , he was certain he would never feel the way these people were right now. He was one of those people who went along their way, unappreciated of what was ahead of them. He could no longer appreciate it like he used to. With his feet dragging along the concrete sidewalk, his hands dug deeply into his pockets, eyes shifting over to the faces of others, his face was thin and blank at the sight.

Smiling faces.

Giant beaming eyes.

Echos of their laughter.

Spike carried on, careful to avoid bumping into others with his wounds. With one hand over his ribs, he maneuvered through the sidewalk in slow strides. Brushing through people swiftly, glancing at their blank faces as they stared at him. Yes, it is blood. Yes, some were gunshot wounds. Spike could read their faces in an instant. Seeing their smiling faces fade through the neon lights when reached to him. Through the crowds of people he came to a halt. Feet in front of him, he eyed only one woman ahead of him. Her head was turned, only to be facing her long blond hair. It swayed side to side as she walked. In mere seconds, she now turned around, walking into the direction of a store nearby. Spike blinked, his face now blank. He was seeing her wherever he went. He was seeing Julia.

The lofty man had shut his eyes briefly, exhaling his breath deeply. She wasn't here, he knew that. His mind was just not all there; with his headache that felt like a tremor pulsing through his head, dizziness now taking over his sight. He needed to leave quickly.

Spike reopened his eyes, the blaring lights of the Mar's streets just flashing through his mis matched eyes. A cool breeze had swept through his unruly thick hair, parting his olive hair slightly. Each night in this place were new faces, new people who didn't have a clue who he was, new people who only gave him curious glances. They didn't have to know anything about him. If anything, it was one of the only thing he came to be fond about Mars at this time; that there weren't any familiar faces. And that left him at ease in the pressing darkness.

He stared ahead to a big structure his eyes weren't able to avoid. Neon lights posted outside the windows of the building reading _Bar. _Of course it wouldn't be the name, but it seemed to be a discreet joint, considering the dim lights shone from the inside of the glass. Spike pressed his lips together in contemplation. He was torn between venturing to a hospital, or walk into the bar that was silently calling out to him -- well he did need something in his system. Of course common sense would be to get treated for his injuries, but common sense didn't matter to him at this point. Nothing really did.

The lanky man entered through the double doors of the bar, the cool breeze of the inside air condition flowed through his body. It smelled of cigarettes and alcohol of course. It was a scent that would always remain with him. Luckily for him, the ceiling lights above were soft and dim. There would be less attention in here then going back the Mar's streets. But with his sluggish posture, maybe it could turn a few heads around.

Soft music was heard playing through the center of the stage. A man, black suit, black top hat, saxophone in hand. Typical. It was of a slow jazz piece. No words, no other instruments to synchronize with it, just the soft melody of the saxophone echoing through the inside of the bar. It was of a calm tune, almost poignant. It was something that suited him, though he never showed it through his calm face. He was drawn to the thick music, seating himself on one of the many bar stools to the left of him. He felt the pressure lift up from his body as soon as he sat down. It gave his long legs time to rest -- this place gave him time to relax and just think before continuing on.

Propping his elbow onto the mahogany table in front of him, he buried his cheek into the palm of his hand; brown eyes fixed on the man in the center of the stage. He brought up his sax, fingers swiftly switching from key to key, inhaling large amounts of air into his mouth for every section of notes, the bell of the sax letting out soothing descants through the smoky air.

"Sir?" A feminine voice interrupted Spike's train of thought. His eyes altered from the music to the woman, head still resting on his hand. The woman was thin and petite wearing a simple button up shirt, sleeves folded multiple times before it reached her elbows. With one hand holding a rag, the other gripping a cup as she cleaned the inside contents of the foaming alcohol that was within from the last user. Her eyebrows rose slightly as she caught the features of Spike's bleeding face, and she came to a pause, placing the glass down beside him. "Uh..." The woman spoke once again, her voice trailing off as she pushed back strands of dark brown from her eyes. "I'll go ahead and get you a rag." And with that said, she bent over slightly towards the shelves below the counter, shuffling through all the glass to find any sign of cloth.

"Uh huh..." Spike muttered softly, straighting his body posture and reached one arm out, grabbing a beer that was laying in an open cooler. He figured the bartender was too busy. The chilled ice touched the tips of his fingers, a residue of liquid stuck to his fingertips. He placed the beer beside him, now pushing back thick strands of olive hair from his face, feeling the adhesive amount of dry blood above his left eye. After long moments of the bartender's rummaging around the counter, she grabbed a simple white rag, drenching the material in warm water and handed it to Spike.

"Rough night, I'm taking?" The woman's velvet voice inquired with a short chuckle. It seemed with the light shining down over Spike's frame, she was still unaware of his other wounds. He did not let out a laugh, but merely shrugged his shoulders, thinking over the events earlier. There was no use reminiscing about the past, it would solve nothing.

"You could say." Spike finally replied gripping the warm cloth in his hand and dabbed it against his face, wiping away the blood stains. He looked back at towel, stains of crimson ruined the pure white fabric of the rag. The bartender stole a glance at the man as she continued to clean the glass in front of her. Spike sighed greatly, continuing to wipe the rag throughout every inch of his face, cooling his skin.

The bartender came to a halt, seeing the beer Spike had placed in front of him. They always had an interesting job; just tending to others, if it was just a celebration, or if they were heavily damaged and wanted to simply to get drunk. They knew every single story about the person before they even sat upon the bar stools; from the expressions on their face, or to their posture. They could read through them easily. But for this man, this olive haired, lofty man, he was unsure of his story. His heavy mix matched eyes narrowed slightly with a glint of emptiness to his orbs. His idle posture as he ambled over to the stool. The man was difficult to read. "I see you already got your drink." The bartender said through arched brows.

Spike simply nodded his head, lifting the bottle lazily with one hand to show her. With his thumb, he popped open the bottle cap with his nail. He could immediately smell the cool alcohol reaching his nose. In moments passing, the bartender had brought down a clean glass beside his bottle. He lifted his eyes once again to the woman, and with a nod he looked back to the cool drink. He tilted the bottle slowly towards the empty glass, the chime of the two glass resounding from the hit. The empty glass was soon being filled now, filling slowly with rich gold swishing back and forth through the inside of the cold glass. Spike brought the glass under his nose and closed his eyes, inhaling the aroma deeply. This was exactly what he needed right now. Just one beer to break the edge... maybe two, or three... He brought the glass to the tip of his mouth and took in a large amount into his parched mouth. After swallowing his first gulp, he exhaled his breath softly; the fresh stench of beer lingering from his cool breath. He dropped his eyes down to the glass in hand, observing the foam making its way to the surface of the glass. Evaporated water trickling down his fingers.

_Cheers._

He thought discontentedly with an inward sigh. Couple drinks, a walk to the hospital. Then what? To go back to the same life he had before? He had chances to start over. Each time, it led him to the same bloodshed he kept living through. It was now time that he stopped; he didn't want the bounty life any longer. Now he was given another chance to start over anew, and this time, he was going to start it right. The way he should have done so long ago. He would not say goodbye to all back at the Bebop it was better for Spike, for everyone. Still, he could not imagine himself actually working a real job, to live in a small home somewhere off this planet; it was unlike him. Even so, whatever it took for him not to walk down the same path like he's done before, he would gladly take it with no hesitation.

"Tippings ones glass alone deep in thought." He spoke softly before taking in one more swig of the drink and glanced over to the bartender indolently. The bartender came to a pause from her cleaning, breaking her gaze away from the man. Spike knew the woman had kept his eye on him the entire time, stealing glances from time to time with her auburn eyes. "That's my reason being here." She blinked at him quizzically, the shadows defining her soft face now falling into a slight frown as if she hadn't the slightest idea of what he was saying. "I noticed you were just staring. Probably trying to figure out my story." With that, he shrugged his shoulders apathetically, closing his eyes as he took another drink of his beer. Typical bartenders.

The woman had paused, lips tightening into a firm line in slight embarassment. Spike reopened his eyes, staring into the cracks of the mahogony table with no reason. He didn't need to explain himself to anyone, especially to a stranger in front of him. His eyes lingered down to his glass. Almost empty. He would need a refill soon.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Jus' one more..." Spike mumbled dryly through his cigarette in mouth, loud enough for the bartender to here as he waved his arm lazily in the air. Beside him were four empty bottles of beer, and it wasn't even past an hour yet. His vision was now fogged, mixed with the smoky air and dim lights of the bar's surroundings. He blinked several times, his eyes heavy.

When you're drunk, you only speak in slurs.

More individuals had entered the bar, leaving the bartender to tend to others, zooming past each person, mixing drinks and retrieving bottles of wine, brandy, whatever these people had chose in that moment's passing. Then it would be another cycle again, going back and forth to the other.

Spike waited; parted lips, fidgeting hands.

It was rare times that he went ahead and got drunk like this. But after everything, there was no reason why he shouldn't. Some earlier events were blocked by his drunken haze, but by the morning he would have remembered... along with a hangover. Through his muffled hearing, he could sense the jazz cease, now being replaced with soft piano keys. He asked himself for a moment why he never came here often. This place was perfect for him at the moment; with the melancholy melodies, playing key after key. It was as if they knew exactly how he was feeling at this moment. It reminded him too much of memories from his past. Faint, splotches of familiar faces that he had left behind. Spike came to a pause, relaxing his hands. His heavy eyes narrowed slightly, mouth now shut into a fine thin line.

A moment later, the bartender had placed one more beer on top of the wooden table, but he did not seem to react to it. Instead, he began to shake his head slowly, the woman now giving him a curious look.

"No..." Spike muttered, propping both hands firmly now upon the table, attempting to stand. The numbing sensation of his wounds now prickling at his ribs gave him a painful reminder of his injuries, and he winced slightly. The woman's eyes now widened as she saw his full figure through the bar's dim lights. From gunshot wounds to deep cuts, she was taken aback by his foolish decision to arrive here instead of a hospital.

Spike didn't seem to take any notice to her reaction as he began to fumble through his pockets for his money card or just spare woolong at that. "Lemme' see here..." He muttered slowly, now checking his suit jacket pocket. The woman instantly shook her head, her eyebrows pinched together with worry.

"No, no... It's on the house. I think you should see a doctor right this second." She pressed with one hand propped on her hip. Spike slowly stopped searching, lifting his head slowly to meet eye to eye with her. He dropped both hands to his side and attempted to straighten his posture, but soon fell into a slouch in mere seconds. He didn't seem to process the other part of her sentence, but he was obliged for the free beer.

Turning around, he stumbled on his feet, circling around the bar stool; his body swaying lightly. But he soon caught himself, straightening his legs and he continued through the tables scattered across the bar. Through the smoke of his cigarette flashing through his vision, he came across a neon green sign across from his current place. With his blurred vision, it was difficult to make out the words. _Exit_. He finally pictured through his mind, and his lean figure sauntered passed the round tables, faces of random figures staring at the man's wounds with mortified eyes. It did not lower himself in any way, drunk or not, he didn't care.

Now opening the door, he craned his head sluggishly, unable to piece together his memory of direction to head off to. With legs trembling, numbing pain surfacing from his drunken state, he began to walk. Neon lights were still radiating throughout the dark night; flickering colours blinding Spike's vision. Everywhere he turned, multicolored xenon, krypton, argon flickering of lights sinking into his mix matched irises.

Spike blinked furiously, hoping to eliminate the multiple colours, but unfortunately it did not favor him that night. His eyes now darted to the sidewalk, now pressing on through the booming streets. His cigarette fell from the corners of his lips now hitting the floor. A small spark emitted from it the second it hit the concrete ground, but Spike merely ignored it, his gangling feet still treading forward. He was yards away from reaching the intersection of the street, lamppost emitting a dim light from the bulb. His vision spotted a figure, beside the post. All except the figure seemed blurred through is vision, and as he advanced forward, their frame seemed to glow. Eerily. Almost ghostly.

Spike came to a pause they turned their head towards the sloshed man. "Julia..?" His voice cracked, almost voicing out as a whisper. He squinted his eyes towards her frame; glowing azure eyes penetrating his own with softness to them, gentle face with not a single silhouette added to her figure. She was absolutely beautiful, just as he always had found her.

_That can't be you._

He thought to himself almost in a somber tone with his hand falling back to his side. His face now softened, eyes narrowing slightly at her presence. He was was waiting for her image to wither away under the dim light. He closed his eyes gently, hoping that the moment he reopened them, that she was gone. But to his dismay, she was still present. The light seemed to favor her golden hair, for it shined beneath its light. She made no sudden movements, just kept her eyes on the green haired man. Spike's lips tightened into a firm line, knowing that this was only a brief image. He was sure that even when he was sober, he would still be seeing her everywhere he went. He would be branded with her face always deep in his mind. To his surprise, he wasn't sad, he was just numb.

Just... numb.

Perhaps it was another reason for him entering the bar on that dark night; to numb away all the feelings he felt, to numb away all of his past. But apprehension had won over him, because with his drunken state, it wasn't enough to fill the empty holes he had buried within him. It was not what he had in mind when stumbling upon that bar.

Spike shut his eyes tightly, bringing both hands over his eyes to rub them.

_Clenched fists over my eyes I'm still suffering._

He slowly brought his hands down, dragging skin along with his fingers before he dropped them down to his sides once again. As soon as he eyed the lamppost, Julia's figure was gone, disappeared out of his mind. Spike opened his mouth, wordless for any sound, and he bowed his head, eyes barely open. When he reached the hospital, he would rest. And with that following morning, he hoped he wouldn't remember any of these moments.

Not a single one.

Spike let out a deep sigh, the stench of beer releasing from his breath. Alright, no more distractions. With tired feet, tired eyes, it was to the hospital and he would keeping walking until he reached his destination. Pulling out of the city streets, he was now away from the constant blaring lights. His pupils adjusted easily to the dim street lights ahead, making his sense of sight more durable to maneuver through the streets. The compressing buildings now grew distances apart as he left downtown. Bank companies. Pharmacys. Hotels. Numerous developments that was the least on Spike's mind now.

Eyebrows pinched together, he darted his head left to right; squinting through hazed eyes, until he finally reached his destination. And the building was only feet away, just in time before his body had failed him. He chuckled dryly, dragging his feet over to the entrance of sliding doors. Bright light had entered through his vision once again as soon as he entered, clouding his eyesight, his breaths were in irregular patterns, legs quivering. Called it.

No longer able to keep a steady balance, he toppled over the ground, eyes facing the shuffling feet of people hurrying over to his fallen figure. His vision was now a broken haze, brown irisis shifting from clear to dim. The voices above his being were barely audible to him now. The only sounds that he was able to hear were the short, unusual pattern of his breaths; chest rising and falling, along with the beating of his heart. Spike shut his eyes, feeling the vertigo now taking over. He could feel hands pulling him from the cold ground, lifting his lofty frame unto what he guessed to be an emergancy bed. For a slight moment, he felt annoyed by the constant hands touching him, trying to remove his coat. He reopened his eyes weakly, facing splotches of ceiling lights as they rushed from one to another in seconds. Spike could hear muffled voices from another as they pulled into a large room. He was sure that the person was addressing him but fortunately, he wasn't able to comprehend a single word that came out of their mouth.

Hands were now cupped under his sides as they lifted Spike's figure gingerly off the emergancy bed and onto the one beside it. The cotton, one hundred percent polyester fiber pillow was enough to put him at ease. His eyes flickered to a blurred figure beside his bed, and he placed a mask over his face, lifting his head slightly to adjust the strap gently over his thick, unruly green hair. The mask was producing oxygen for him, and at one point, he overheard the same muffled voice trying to speak to him. The oxygen was now replaced with a bitter scent. One of maybe a sedative medicine. Perhaps that's what the doctor has been trying to tell him. Spike relaxed his rigid frame, his breathing easing at a slow pattern.

As Spike inhaled the odor from the mask, he could feel his eyes growing heavier than before. He narrowed his eyes, almost closing them. In moments, the darkness had began to overtake his being, and he did not fight it. With a long exhale, he closed his eyes, letting the shadows blanket him warmly.

_See you later space cowboy._

* * *

I'm growing very lazy with these updates. Most of the time I don't have the motivation to write anymore. But I'm going to try and keep up ith this than ork on my other projects. The other stories I'm sure, won't get far.

Reviews are glady appriciated!


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